


The Merits of Road Salt: A Housian Debate

by prettyapathetic



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyapathetic/pseuds/prettyapathetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Winter/Christmas Challenge on Sick!Wilson. Prompt #10: Wilson slips on ice and hits head resulting in a head injury (severity up to you).</p><p>Wilson slips on ice outside of PPTH, causing him to say a few things he might not have otherwise. Takes place mid season 6, before the arrival of Sam.</p><p>Again, special thanks to my beta, Alternatealto. She always makes my stuff so much better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merits of Road Salt: A Housian Debate

It all happened so fast. It was a day like any other. House had ridden in with Wilson to the hospital, and since he didn’t have a patient, he spent the day hiding from clinic duty and playing video games in his office. By about 3:30 in the afternoon, he was bored stiff and decided to go wait not so patiently on the couch in Wilson’s office. Despite his typical brand of teasing and taunting, Wilson held out longer than expected; spending the better part of two hours with his head down in paperwork and ignoring House’s obnoxious attempts to get him to give it up so they could leave already.

He was finally successful after managing to hit Wilson square between the eyes with a rubber band. Wilson had simply sighed and began putting his paperwork away.

“You know,” Wilson started, not looking at House as he continued to put away his things. “I keep thinking that one day you’ll grow up. Silly me, right?” There were equal amounts of annoyance and affection in his tone. It was a delicate balance that House was proud he could put in his friend’s voice.

“Yes, silly you,” House agreed, his mouth quirking into a smirk. “C’mon, let’s get out of here already before Cuddy comes around and tries to rope me into doing my clinic hours.”

They made their way downstairs to the main doors, walking in stride next to each other as they often did. It was comforting to House, though he’d never admit to it. There was a certain synchronicity to them that he’d always enjoyed. It was like they naturally complemented each other without even trying. It was just how they were.

Stepping out into the cold winter night, House stopped for a moment, shivering as the bitter wind whipped at his face. He hated the winter. Ice was hard enough to navigate with two fully functioning legs. Add a cane to the mix and bad things could happen. And with that thought, House’s cane went out from under him on a patch of ice.

Without thinking, he immediately grabbed for the closest steady object: Wilson. Unfortunately, Wilson wasn’t steady enough, and in the flash of an eye they were both in a heap on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

“Ow,” House moaned, trying to downplay his screaming thigh. He looked up to see the maintenance man coming around the corner of the building with a bag of road salt. “Perfect timing,” he muttered and then sat up. It was then that he realized that other than the startled yelp he’d heard when he grabbed Wilson, the other man hadn’t made any noise at all.

“Wilson?” he said, looking at where his friend lay very still. Too still. “Shit, shit shit shit,” House slid over to his friend, silently cursing his ruined thigh. “Wilson?” he called again, sounding a bit more worried when there was no response at all. Quickly, he checked Wilson’s vitals and found that he was breathing, just unconscious. Then House noticed the blood at the back of Wilson’s head and everything slowed down to a crawl.

“We need some help out here!” He shouted loudly. The maintenance man had finally noticed them and looked on in shock and fear. It felt like an eternity before a nurse finally ran outside and got the ball rolling.

The next few minutes went by in a blur as a team from Emergency got Wilson inside and checked out. They wanted to check out House too, but he just shook them off and limped back inside after Wilson. He could wait. Wilson couldn’t.

***

 

The emergency doctors rushed Wilson down the hallway; not for the first time, House wished he could run again. Hell, if he could walk fast it would be a vast improvement. Anything to keep up with that damn stretcher. By the time he caught up, Wilson had regained consciousness, making House let out a breath of relief.

The feeling didn’t last long though -- House entered the triage area to the sounds of yelling in a very familiar tone. He limped over as fast as he could and flung back the dividing curtain to see nurses trying to hold down a flailing Wilson.

“What the hell is going on?” House shouted, causing everyone in the vicinity to stop for a moment and look at him, even Wilson.

“Get them off me, _please_ get them off me,” Wilson begged, his eyes wild with fear. House frowned at him for a second. He might tease Wilson for being girly now and then, but he’d never heard him beg before.

“I’ve got this,” House said sternly as he walked over to Wilson’s bedside, shooing the doctor and nurses away. They left easily, knowing House’s reputation and not wanting to bother to get in the way of House’s temper.

“Thank you, _thank you_ ,” Wilson practically sobbed as they were left alone, or as alone as you can get in the middle of a crowded emergency room. “I don’t know what they were trying to do to me. Where am I?”

This was not good. It was still likely that this was just a concussion, but it was looking like a fairly serious one at that point. Memory loss was never a good sign.

“You’re in the emergency room. I’m just going to check the cut on the back of your head, and ask you a few questions. Now, what’s your name?” House got right down to business, needing to know the severity of Wilson’s injuries A.S.A.P.

“I, um, _ouch_ ,” Wilson started, gasping in pain as House prodded the cut. “Wilson, James Wilson.”

“Delayed reaction,” House said to himself. “But not complete memory loss. Who am I?” House continued to ask Wilson a series of simple questions, all of which he could answer, just with a bit of a delay. “Looks like you’ve got a concussion and you need a couple of stitches, but other than that you’ll be fine. I’m going to order you a CT scan just in case.”

“Have I ever told you how hot you look when you’re examining a patient?” The words were casual, as if Wilson were making simple small talk.

House froze in place, halfway to get what he needed to stitch up Wilson’s head. “What did you just say?” It was rare for House to get really caught off guard, but if anyone was going to manage it, it was Wilson.

“I said you’re hot. Jeeze House, it’s not a big deal.”

House narrowed his eyes at Wilson, but didn’t say anything further. This was obviously due to the concussion, and he wasn’t about to take anything coming out of his best friend’s mouth at face value. Instead he went back to stitching him up and getting the last tests run so Wilson could get some much needed rest.

***

After the CT scan revealed that it was just a concussion and there was no other, more serious damage, House arranged for Wilson to stay at least one night in the hospital for observation. The outburst and slow response time had him a bit worried, though he’d never say that out loud. Wilson had fallen asleep almost immediately after he was settled in his private room and had been out for hours.

House stayed by his bedside the whole time, reading a book in a comfy chair he had brought in, set up just like after the transplant surgery. It wasn’t until then, when he could finally relax, that he really started to notice the pain in his leg. Falling and then rushing around after Wilson had taken his pain back up to pre-Mayfield levels, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave Wilson’s side just yet.

Mostly just because he was curious about the things Wilson had been saying in Emergency. Realistically, House knew that it was just the concussion. It was common for people to say things they didn’t quite mean, or confuse words when they had a concussion, and he knew this wasn’t an exception, but still. It was nice to think of the possibility that Wilson might like him as more than a friend. Lord knew he’d contemplated that a few times himself, but never considered actually acting on it. Well, at very least he could tease Wilson about this later.

It was a few hours, and god knew how many ibuprofen tablets before Wilson finally decided to wake up. “You know, you really should get yourself checked out. That fall couldn’t have done any good for your leg,” his soft, sleep-laden voice came, startling House from his thoughts.

“About damn time you woke up,” House grumbled as he stood up. He pulled out a penlight and immediately started shining it in Wilson’s eyes.

Wilson groaned and weakly tried to bat the painful light away. “Stop, House, I have a headache.” His response was still a little delayed, but his pupils were normal and there was nothing else out of the ordinary that House could see.

“You’re lucky, you know that? The way you were acting when you first got to the emergency room, you’d think someone was trying to murder you.” House came damn close to adding _you scared the shit out of me_ , but managed to bite his tongue just in time.

Wilson smiled. “You’re cute when you’re worried,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

House’s brow furrowed at Wilson’s words and he stood up straighter. “Who said I’m worried?” he asked, though he was really thinking more about the ‘cute’ comment. He was going to have to keep reminding himself that it was just the concussion talking, lest he get used to Wilson flirting more directly with him. In the past their flirting had always been knowing looks on Wilson’s side. This was the first time House could think of where Wilson was more vocal in his flirtation... or at least what he’d always thought of as flirtation. It’s not like they ever spoke of it, and nothing had ever actually come of it.

“You are. Why else would you be camping out at my bedside over a simple concussion?” Wilson smirked for a moment before it quickly dropped from his face and he swore loudly. “Damn it, what the hell do I have to do to get some painkillers around here?”

House rolled his eyes and added irritability to his mental list of Wilson’s concussion symptoms. “Calm down. You’re due for your meds in a few minutes anyway. You’ll live.” Turning to leave and check on the status of Wilson’s next dose of pain-killers, he missed the frown that crossed his friend’s face.

***

The next morning, Wilson was released from the hospital and into House’s care. Well, it wasn’t really official, but the whole incident had scared the crap out of House (not that he was willing to admit that) and he wanted to keep an eye on Wilson. He arranged for them both to have a couple of days off and included the stipulation that Wilson would only come back if he was well enough.

“I really don’t think I need that much time off of work,” Wilson huffed as they entered the condo. “I don’t feel that bad, and paperwork isn’t too stressful.”

“Why can’t you just take the time off and relax? The world isn’t going to end if you stay home from work,” House pointed out as he went to grab some take-out menus from on top of the fridge.

Wilson couldn’t help but grin as he settled on the couch. “I meant what I said before, you know,” he called out as House headed back into the room. “You’re cute when you worry.”

House raised an eyebrow and flopped down onto the couch next to Wilson. “You’re really pushing this ‘concussion makes me say weird stuff’ act. I might start thinking you’ve got a thing for me or something.” The words were meant to be teasing, light, but the whole thing fell flat.

Wilson just looked at him for a moment as if appraising the situation. “And what if I did? Have a thing for you, I mean.” He bravely managed to keep eye contact, but House noticed the blush that tinted Wilson’s cheeks.

“If you did, I’d wonder what you want with a crazy and bitter old gimp like me,” House replied honestly.

“You mean, what would I want with an attractive, brilliant, funny man who actually likes me for me? Gee, I have no idea.”

Wilson’s response took House by surprise and he frowned. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

A small smile twitched at the corner of Wilson’s mouth and he nodded. “Admittedly,” he began, “it started out as the concussion. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but after I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t so bad to admit that. It’s something I’ve wanted to say for awhile now, I just didn’t have the guts to say anything without a bit of brain damage.”

House had intended to make fun of Wilson, fall back on his defense mechanism of teasing and mockery, but he couldn’t help but laugh at Wilson’s words. “I guess I should thank the maintenance guy for not salting the sidewalk.”

“Cuddy might have something to say about that if the guy suddenly stopped salting altogether. There could be an epidemic of brain damage and hospital lawsuits. It could turn into a veritable cornucopia of crap.”

“Point. That might end up with her mad at me and giving me more clinic hours. That would just be uncalled for.”

“Agreed. No one needs more of _you_ in the Clinic. Really, all it does is make for more angry patients who end up wanting someone else’s opinion.”

“Hey! I can’t help it if they’re all idiots!”

It was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes and laugh. House gave him an odd look. He’d expected the usual argument of not all the patients being dumb or some other such defence, but instead he just got a smile and deep brown eyes full of mirth. Before House could second-guess himself, or even really think of what he was about to do, he leaned in and kissed Wilson on the mouth.

Wilson reacted immediately, kissing back and bringing his hand up to the back of House’s head to thread his fingers through the fine hair he found there. It was gentle and almost sweet, which surprised House, especially since it felt so damned good. He was used to hard and fast. This was neither and yet so much better. He flicked his tongue at Wilson’s bottom lip, wanting to taste more, needing more and _god_ suddenly he wanted everything. Wilson complied, opening up and letting him in in more ways than one.

After a few minutes, they broke apart, panting for breath. “About time you did that,” Wilson panted, pressing his forehead to House’s gently.

“Oh yeah, this is on me. Sorry if I was too busy watching you get married and sleep with patients every other year.”

“House?” Wilson interrupted, sounding annoyed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, House did as he was told.


End file.
